


Steady

by youvebeenlivingfictional



Series: Softly [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (Suggestive smile emoji), F/M, Feelings-wise anyway, Fluff, Oral Sex, Probably misuse of Mando'a again, Remember when I said that other part was gonna be a oneshot, Smut, Some angst, Vaginal Sex, haha - Freeform, soft boba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youvebeenlivingfictional/pseuds/youvebeenlivingfictional
Summary: “Where did you go?"You never ask before he leaves; he doesn't tell you.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader
Series: Softly [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174319
Comments: 7
Kudos: 73





	Steady

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said that other part was gonna be a one-off?  
> Haaahahahaha
> 
> *Elek - Yes/yeah  
> **Nuhoy - Sleep  
> *** Ori'haat - I swear

You hear him before you see him; you’re used to the hiss, the sound of his helmet disengaging before it’s slipped off of his head. 

You take a few moments to rouse yourself from the brief sleep you hadn’t even realized you’d slipped into before you peer across the room at him. His back is to you as he removes his armor. You can’t see any new blaster marks or dents from where you are - but you can take a closer look later.  
  
Boba glances back, and looks again when he sees that your eyes are open.  
  
“Did I wake you, _mesh’la_?”  
  
You smile and shake your head, even as you murmur, “ _No_ ,” In a sleep-roughened voice, even as you stretch to wake your lethargic limbs. Boba tips his head a little, and you know that he doesn’t buy it for a moment, but he turns back to continue undressing. You wait patiently, knowing that Boba likes to take stock of his armor and his under layers before he’ll come to bed.  
  
When he does, he yanks the covers away from your naked body. You whine at the brief, cool rush of air - but Boba is over you in seconds, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sigh, spreading your legs for him to settle between as you cup his face. He takes his time with these kisses, letting his lips brush across yours tenderly, even as his hands as greedily clutching at your sides, your breasts, your hips and thighs. You tip your head down to watch him, smoothing your hand over his head as Boba’s kisses drift lower, over your breasts and stomach. 

He rests one of his hands on the crook of your knee before he dips down, sucking your clit into his mouth. You gasp, hips tilting down toward him as he works his tongue over you. He peers up at you, eyes smiling and dark as he leans away.  
  
He doesn’t make you wait long, doesn’t make you beg for him - he leans back in, laps at your center and groans as you do. When you try to reach down and play with your clit, he pushes your hand away, only to settle his fingers over your clit and set to rubbing his fingers over it in torturously slow circles. You whimper, squirming, and he chuckles against you. He gives you one more lick before he turns his head, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.  
  
“I take it you missed me?” He teases.  
  
“* _Elek_ ,” You mumble. Boba lets out an approving him as he presses a thick digit into you. You can’t help your squeezing around it, and Boba shushes you softly.  
  
“I missed you, too,” You nearly miss his saying so; his confession is half-murmured into your skin; your blood is pounding in your ears, and he’s pressing a second finger into you and curling them.  
  
“Boba--”  
  
He leans in, lets his tongue dart out to lash across your clit again. You wriggle, trying to draw him up, even as you feel your orgasm coiling hot, close.  
  
“ _In_ me, please-- _Gedet'ye,_ ” You repeat the whined plea in Mando’a, knowing he won't deny you then. You bite your lip as Boba presses his face against your thigh, taking a moment to gather himself. He slips his fingers from you, and you watch him kneel up and take himself in hand. Your eyes dart between his face and his cock, and you’re careful to shield your needy whimper as he teases his head over your slit. He presses into you, and you meet his eye.  
  
Sometimes, when he does this, if one or both of you are in a mood, you stare one another down he presses in.  
  
 _Now_ , though-- Now he’s been off-world for nearly three weeks, and you’ve needed him since the second he left. You don’t even try to hide your want for him, just reach out and grasp his forearms as he takes his time sliding into you. You let your head tip back against the pillow, and when he bottoms out-- the moan that leaves you is soft and needy. 

Boba’s hand slides under your thigh, coaxes your leg up around his waist, and the other follows suit. You slide your legs around him, slip your hands up over his shoulders and peer up at him as he begins fucking into you.  
  
Boba still isn’t soft with you -- not all the time.  
  
Now his hands grip hard enough to bruise, and his nipping and sucking will mottle your neck and shoulders and chest. But when you plead him for a kiss, his lips slide over yours in a way that could almost be classified as sweet -- _almost_ , if you didn’t know the man better.  
  
His fingers slither between the two of you again, circling your clit as he knows you need, and you wail as his hips hammer against yours. Neither of you are quiet as you cum. As Boba stops moving, he groans softly, pecks your lips before he lowers his head.

Boba murmurs praises against your neck; his hands slide reverently over your body as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and keep him close, even as he softens inside you. He leaves kisses on your shoulders and cheeks and forehead, and when you catch his lips with yours again, he indulges you in a long, languid kiss that has you clenching around him again. He grunts against your lips softly and shifts, slipping out of you.  
  
Your whine of protest is halted by a whimper when Boba’s fingers trail over your slit. He hums, slips his fingers through the bit of his cum that’s slipped out of you before begins to fuck his load back into you.  
  
“Do you hear that, _cyar'ika_?” He murmurs, and you nod hurriedly, your mouth agape as you take in the squelching noises as you tighten around him. He noses tenderly at your jaw, the movement sweet and opposing to the harsh thrust of fingers.  
  
“ _Etyc_ ,” He murmurs. His palm grinds against your still-sensitive clit, and your hips hitch at the feeling.  
  
“Wh-What’s that mean?”  
  
“ _Filthy_.”  
  
Your eyes squeeze tight as you cum again, hands scrabbling helplessly at his arms and shoulders. Boba just chuckles, nuzzles against your cheek as you pant and settle again. 

\--

“Where did you go?"

You never ask before he leaves; he doesn't tell you. Boba’s fingers skate down your arm as he answers, “Abafar.”  
  
“What’s it like?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
You frown up at him at the answer, and he clarifies, “It’s a desert planet.”  
  
“Like here.”  
  
“Locals call it The Void.”  
  
“...Yikes,” You mumble. Boba grunts, nuzzles against your temple. You settle back against his chest, close your eyes, and for a _moment_ you think you might drift off to sleep -- And then Boba’s hand finds yours, and the pads of his fingers run over your sore and cracked knuckles. There’s a pause, and something like dread trickles into your stomach.  
  
“ _Ad’ika._ ”  
  
The utterance is low in his chest, reverberates by your ear; it's soft in its volume, heavy in its disappointment.  
  
“I have a good reason,” You mumble, turning your head up toward him. Before he can ask what it is, though, you slide your lips across his. You carefully untangle your hand from his and cup his cheek, and you smile as Boba grumbles against your lips. You shift until you’re leaning over him, hands on either side of his head as you straddle his hips. His hands slide up your back, steadying and smooth. For every kiss that you take, Boba’s hands slip down a little more before they settle on your thighs.  
  
“Well?” He mumbles against your lips.  
  
“Hm?” You play dumb before you suck his lower lip between yours. He groans, squeezing where his hands have settled. He tips his head back against the pillows and reaches up, chucking you under the chin with one finger.  
  
“You won’t get out of it that easily, little one.”  
  
You pout; you sort of knew that you wouldn’t, but it was worth a shot. You sigh and slide down against him, resting your chin on his chest.  
  
“I took a job in Mos Pelgo a couple of days ago,” You admit. Boba’s hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, and his thumb soothes over your nape. You tip your head forward a little, dropping a kiss to his skin as you feel your eyelids drop at the tender attention.  
  
“What’s that to do with your hands?”  
  
“I rushed back, is all. Didn’t have time to--” A wide yawn cuts off your explanation briefly, “Knew you’d be home soon.”  
  
Boba doesn’t say anything to that; his thumb seems to hesitate in its movement before it resumes, steady and sure.  
  
“** _Nuhoy,_ _mesh’la.”_

_\--_

You wake up to Boba murmuring your name. You blink into the morning light bleeding in through the window. Panic grips your stomach, tight and twisting, when you see Boba in his armor.  
  
“Where are you--”  
  
“Just a meeting, here,” He says, and you settle back down in the bed.  
  
“...Oh,” You mumble. You swallow thickly, nodding when Boba asks if you’re alright. He reaches down, cups your chin and pecks your lips.  
  
“Rest,” He says as he stands.  
  
“... I should--” You clear your throat and push yourself up, tacking on, “I’ve work to do,” When Boba turns back to you for explanation. His eyes dart to your hands, and his mouth twists with a reprimand. You wave him off.  
  
“I’ll take care of them later, honest.”  
  
\--  
  
By the time you’ve finished work, your hands are sore and cracking, and bleeding in a couple of spots. You wince, swiping at the spots with an antiseptic cleaning patch before you dip them into a bowl of warm water. You sigh, leaning back in your seat and letting your eyes close for a few moments.  
  
You glance back as you hear footsteps, and when there's no hiss of a helmet, you ask,  
  
“What’s up, Fenn?”  
  
She doesn’t answer, just walks over to peer into the bowl where your hands are soaking before leaning against the table.  
  
“Do they hurt?” She asks. You raise a brow, looking up at her.  
  
“...Did he tell you about them?”  
  
“No. But he was in a shit mood, kept flexing his own. He used to do that when he was worried about your hands.”  
  
You frown a little, turning back to the bowl.  
  
“Worked in our favor,” She adds, “Intimidated the hell out of the spice runner we had a meeting with.”  
  
You snort a laugh, shaking your head.  
  
“Glad I could be of assistance.”  
  
“ _Do_ they hurt?”  
  
You shrug a little, “They look worse than they feel, but they don’t feel like a basket of loth-cats.”  
  
Shand grunts, pushing off of the table.  
  
“Nice speaking with you,” You call after her as she leaves the room. She gifts you with one more grunt and you chuckle, shaking your head. 

\--

By the time Boba returns, your hands have been covered in the salve and wrapped in the strips of coarseweave.  
  
As soon as his helmet is off, you see his eyes dart to them. He doesn’t let his gaze linger long, though, and turns to begin undressing.  
  
“Spice runners today, huh?” You ask.  
  
“Shand tell you that?”  
  
“Mhm. She said you put a scare into them.”  
  
“It was what needed to be done.”  
  
You arch a brow, but you don’t press, instead turning back to your datapad.  
  
“What are you looking at?”  
  
“Specs for an M-68 lanndspeeder.”  
  
“M-68?” Boba frowns, turning to look at you, “On Tatooine?”  
  
“Mhm,” You nod, “Banged up pretty bad, too. The turbine engines are shot to hell and the repulsor vents are just pitiful.”  
  
“The model doesn’t seem odd to you for this area?”  
  
“Course it does, but you know I don’t ask questions when I take a job on. I’m now assuming it may belong to your Spice trader friends.”  
  
“They are not friends.”  
  
“Your Spice trader associates,” You correct yourself with an eye roll, “What has you in such a lovely mood?” 

Boba doesn’t answer for a moment, and your stomach curdles with worry. It’s been rare that you and Boba have well and truly _fought_ , had any argument more serious than bicker.  
  
“This morning,” He tells you, finally, and you frown, shaking your head a little.  
  
“What about this morning?” You ask. You feel the bed dip a little as Boba settles down beside you. Your brow furrows as he takes the datapad from you and sets it aside.  
  
“When you thought I was leaving,” He clarifies.  
  
“... I had just woken up, I was confused,” You excuse.  
  
“And Mos Pelgo. I asked Shand, she told me that you rode through the night to make it back ahead of me.”  
  
Your skin warms with embarrassment, and you make it a point to try and be sneakier the next time that happens -- Maker knows that that probably wouldn’t help, nothing escapes that woman.  
  
“I don’t like you going between here and your _shop_ after dark,” Boba goes on, “Do you have any idea what I felt, knowing the risk you took crossing that much land _alone_ because of me? If anything had happened, it would have been my fault.”  
  
“Well maybe it wasn’t really because of you, maybe I did it because I missed Fenn.”  
  
Boba’s face shifts from tired to _stern_ at your teasing, you sigh, leaning back against the headboard.  
  
“Why are you worried about what _could_ have happened?” You press, shaking your head, “I’m here, I’m fine. And you don’t think that I worry about when you’re-- kriff knows where doing Maker knows what? But do I _ever_ scold you for not keeping in contact when you come back? No. Because I know you’re your own person, Boba, and that you’re capable of protecting yourself.”  
  
You push yourself off of the bed and walk over to where you left your clothing.  
  
“Where are you going?” Boba asks.  
  
“Home,” You say harshly, tugging your shirt over your head.  
  
“You _are_ home, _cyare.”_  
  
You still at that, fold your arms over your chest and peer down at the floor. You hear the bed creak as Boba stands from it, and he slips his hands over your shoulders.  
  
“I’m sorry,” He says softly, “But I cannot lose you. I cannot bear the thought.”  
  
You hesitate before you lean back against his chest. Boba nuzzles against your temple.  
  
“I know that you’re your own,” He grumbles, “But you must also know that you are _mine_ , _mesh’la_ .”  
  
“... _Ner_ ,” You murmur the word back to him. You feel him smile against your skin.  
  
“That’s right. I am yours,” He affirms, and the words trickle over you like a cool rain. You tip your head back against Boba’s shoulder and he presses a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your neck.  
  
“You weren’t some… Catalyst of this behavior, you know,” You glance up at him as he curls around you, “I used to ride here at night all the time.”  
  
“I do not find that as reassuring as you thought I would.”  
  
“I’m _saying_ ,” You turn to face him, “That it is not a matter of fault. And if it was, the fault would be mine. _I_ chose to ride back, you did not ask or tell me to.”  
  
Boba pushes a sigh out through his nose as he peers at you. He nods a little, lowers his eyes. You step closer, cupping his cheeks.  
  
“ _Boba_ ,” You insist, “You’ve nothing to worry about. *** _Ori'haat.”_

He smiles a little then, turns his head and presses a sweet kiss to your palm.  
  
“Will you come to bed?” He asks, “Or are you...Riding home?”  
  
You let your hands fall to his shoulders and curl around them.  
  
“I am home.” 


End file.
